


The Healing

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to open the wound to get the venom out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bethbethbeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethbethbeth/gifts).



> Written for the 2010 round of Snapely Holidays on LJ/IJ. My thanks to Kelly for the beta.
> 
> Contains some discussion of suicide, though nothing graphic.

The first letter arrives one November morning while the sky is still dark-grey and the air shivering with cold. The house is quiet, filled with long, silent shadows except for where Poppy is making tea in the kitchen.

She pauses, frowning, at the sounds coming from the letterbox: they rarely get Muggle post. Something thuds softly to the floor, the flap on the outside rattles, the steps of the postman fade away.

Poppy picks up her wand and steps out to the hallway. A single, yellow letter on the doormat. She points at it; it soars through the air and into her waiting hand. It's for Severus. No return address.

Returning to the kitchen, she places the letter on the tray next to two steaming mugs of tea: the green one, with a hint of milk, for Severus, the brown one, with two spoons of sugar, for her. The small kitchen is fairly tidy, ready for breakfast later in the morning. All Poppy wants right now is to get back to bed, get under the covers and have her tea -- the chill of the morning makes her shiver, and she draws her dressing gown around herself, starting up the stairs, tray floating behind her.

Severus is still not well, but he will be. And when that time comes, Poppy swears to herself, he's the one who will be getting up on cold mornings to fetch tea.

He is barely awake when she enters the bedroom, turning his head with a mere, "Urnfh?" as Poppy places his mug on the nightstand. "You're welcome," she says, slipping into bed next to him. The mug is wonderfully warm between her hands.

They sip their tea for a while, a peaceful silence between them. There was a time when Poppy used to enjoy other activities early in the morning, but she's getting old and complacent, and her joints will not always co-operate: a certain amount of time is usually needed for her to get in the mood. A romantic dinner with candles and champagne can do its trick like nobody's business, but cold mornings like this one renders her more in the mood for quiet rest than fiery lovemaking.

And Severus... Severus is still not well.

"You should open your letter," she says, turning to look at him.

"Uh?" He's still bleary-eyed. "Which letter?"

Poppy Summons the letter from the tray and dumps it onto his lap. "This one," she says.

He turns the letter over in his hands, the familiar frown appearing on his brow. "Have you checked it for Dark magic?"

She shakes her head. "It came by Muggle post. Surely you can't think..."

To his credit, Severus refrains from scolding her, though she suspects he'd like to. He merely thrusts the letter back into her hands. "Do it," he says, and then, looking as if it costs him a considerable amount of willpower to utter the word, "Please."

They are both silent as Poppy runs every possible test she can think of. There is no trace of Dark magic on the letter; in fact, there is no trace of magic at all. "Pure Muggle," she says, handing it back to him.

He stares at the letter as if he's afraid it will bite him. Poppy takes a sip of her tea, half-impatient, half-amused. "It won't harm you," she says at last.

Severus scowls at her, then rips the letter open with sudden determination. It holds a single sheet of paper; he unfolds it with quick, efficient hands.

And goes very still.

After a moment or two, just as Poppy is about to ask, he curls the letter into a ball; then, before Poppy can react, he's reached over her to grab her wand. The letter explodes in flames.

"Severus!"

Poppy isn't sure what shocks her most, his behaviour or the way he stares at the crumbling remains of the letter, eyes dark, chest heaving. "That was completely out of line," she says.

"Yes." He's still panting, still not looking at her. Then, shaking himself, he places the wand on her lap. "I know. I am sorry."

"What did it say?" she asks, meeting his gaze. At this point, there is no point in keeping secrets from one another: surely they are now beyond the point where trust is to be disputed.

Which is why it stings twice as much when he shakes his head, avoiding her eyes. "Nothing."

She sighs, puts her mug down, and places her head on his shoulder. "I thought you were good at lying," she murmurs, closing her eyes. "Eggs and bacon for breakfast?"

 

***

 

 _Hogwarts, May 1998_

 _Severus has spent the last two days sleeping in the hospital wing, his face pale and sallow, almost the same colour as the pillow under his tousled, matted hair. He's never looked as unhealthy, and that is saying quite a lot. Still, Poppy's deathly fear has almost disappeared. The snake venom is out, and he's survived; all she can do now is make sure he gets his nourishment and rest. And that is exactly what she is planning to do._

 _"Good afternoon," she says, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He cracks open one eye, then the other; a tired, confused look on his face that changes into guarded recognition as her gaze meets his. "I'm glad you're awake."_

 _"More or less," he grunts, accepting the glass of water she gives him and taking a deep gulp. "How long have I been asleep?"_

 _"Since the day before yesterday." Poppy smiles. "You gave us a real fright, you did."_

 _"I'm sure." His gaze slides past her and out the window. "I vaguely remember being transported somewhere... He didn't finish the job, then."_

 _"No," Poppy says. She hesitates, but only for a moment; then she reaches out and takes his hand. "And I'm thankful for it."_

 _He looks down at their hands, then up again, a hint of the usual sneer already in place. "I thought you didn't want to see me again."_

 _If anything, Poppy thinks, she should give it up. Such a man-child he can be, petulant and stubborn, the casual cruelty, and then there's the insecurity beneath it all. She's too old for him; or rather, he's too young for her. And yet he's so old, too. Too old._

 _She doesn't let go of his hand, just holds it tighter, swiping her thumb gently over his. "I thought so, as well."_

 _It's still not quite a sneer. Poppy supposes he probably doesn't have the energy for it. "You thought me an evil, murdering bastard."_

 _"You fooled me," says Poppy gently, reaching out with her free hand to stroke his brow. "You're good at it."_

 _He closes his eyes, an almost invisible shiver at her touch. "I should have died."_

 _Her hand stills. "Do you care so little for me?"_

 _His eyes open again, widening in shocked realisation. "No, damn it -- that's not what I was..."_

 _Poppy knows when to prod a wound and when to leave it alone. She shushes him, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to his temple. "I know," she whispers. "But you'll get better."_

 

***

 

A pale sun has risen when Poppy opens the back door and steps outside. She stands still for a moment, drawing a deep breath of raw late-autumn air. Then she quietly closes the door behind her and walks to the shed. As soon as she reaches the nearest corner, there's a shimmer in the air, and the shed changes: a small greenhouse appears, protected from everyone's eyes but hers.

Poppy may be named after a flower, yet she's never been much of a plant person. But a Healer has to know about herbs and their properties, and even though she's never had to deal with that at Hogwarts, she's come to enjoy doing a bit of Herbology of her own. It calms her, working with life that rewards her care, yet doesn't wreck her with sorrow and guilt when dying.

Severus hasn't brewed any potions in Merlin-knows-how-long. His wand is gone; he won't have another one for some time yet. Poppy brews him painkillers when he needs them and pretends not to notice his humiliation at not being able to do it himself.

After collecting a few Mandrake leaves, she returns to the house. Severus is still sleeping upstairs. He's getting better, but slowly, and most of his day is spent resting. Poppy's days are lazy, too; she has but one patient, and apart from their occasional quarrel and his typical stubbornness, he doesn't cause her much trouble. She practises half-forgotten skills, like gardening, knitting, cooking. Long afternoons are spent on the worn-out sofa, with Poppy reading Muggle historical romances and Severus stretched out beside her, sleeping or leafing through the _Prophet_ or mocking her choice in literature. Severus's legendary crankiness has been subdued since the bite, and Poppy sometimes suspects him of picking a fight just to keep up appearances.

If they are here, it's because she made it happen. Not once did she ask Severus for his opinion, just told him, very matter-of-factly, that she'd take a year off to live with him at his house in Yorkshire, that she'd already settled things with the new Headmistress. In his reduced condition, his protests were feeble and his sarcasm without edge -- even he admitted to wanting to get away from Hogwarts. As soon as he was well enough, they came here, Severus moody and ill at ease, Poppy determined to make him well.

She doesn't know much about Severus's family, only that he's an only child and that his mother died some years ago. His father went abroad after that, transferring the house to Severus before he left. His current whereabouts are unknown; as far as Severus is concerned, his father could just as well be dead, too. The latter has never been said aloud, but Poppy knows how to read between lines. She's also understood that the house holds unhappy memories to him. At least it has done so until now, but Poppy is not above believing her presence might change that a bit.

She knows he cares for her. Even these last few days, when he's been even less talkative than usual, she's felt sure of it.

She opens the back door and enters the kitchen, setting down her jar of leaves on the table. Something in the dark hallway catches her eye: something rectangular, yellow. Another letter.

Poppy picks it up, scrutinising it. It's remarkably similar to the previous one, and just as Muggle, as far as she can tell. Severus's name is scrawled across the envelope in knotted handwriting. No return address this time, either.

Letter in hand, she considers her possibilities. If this letter is anything like the other one, it won't do anything to make Severus calm or happy -- rather the opposite. He still hasn't told her whom the previous letter was from. She can't help feeling a little hurt by this lack of trust, this small wedge between them, although she knows better than to nag him about it. But her feelings aside, there's a very real opportunity that this letter, too, will end up in ashes, or at the very least torn-up and flushed down the toilet.

She could open this one, of course. The idea is tempting. But -- no. Lack of trust is one thing; breaching it quite another. Besides, it's still possible that Severus will tell her of his own accord. She can't stop herself from hoping as much.

In the end, she slips the letter into a kitchen drawer and leaves it there for the time being, surrounded by old paper and string.

 

***

 

 _Hogwarts, October 1997_

 _Neville Longbottom can hardly stand on his feet when two of his friends bring him to the hospital ward. Poppy wants to cry at the sight of him. Instead, she keeps her upper lip stiff and her tone light, instructing the boy to lie face down on a bed. Her hands tremble as she treats his wounds, with anger or fear, she can't truly say._

 _Later that night, she marches straight to the Headmaster's Office, only to find that he's changed his password. This upsets her far more than it should, all things considered. She knocks instead, hard, three times, four times. "Severus!" she shouts, not caring who might hear. "Let me in!"_

 _The door swings open all of a sudden, and she pushes past the gargoyle and up the stairs._

 _He doesn't meet her eyes when she enters the room, doesn't even rise from where he's seated behind the desk, only points to the visitor's chair. "Madam Pomfrey," he says, in that studied, calm voice she knows so well. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"_

 _She remains standing, although the formality of his greeting hurts like a dagger between her ribs. "What do you think you are doing?" she demands, staring at him, willing him to look back. "Those are children, for Merlin's sake, and you let those people loose upon them, those_ monsters _\-- my god!"_

 _Severus turns from her, staring out the window. "It is not your place to meddle with the Headmaster's decisions," he says, and Poppy senses something in his voice -- other people would call it danger and be intimidated, but she recognises it as defiance. "Believe me when I say that these are uncertain times for us all."_

 _She can't stand it any longer. Striding towards him, she puts her hand on his arm and looks up into his face, imploringly. "Please, Severus -- I know this isn't what you want... And I don't think you killed Albus, I never did, I'm so sorry... But please tell me, why are you --"_

 _Suddenly, his gaze meets hers, dark and yet so revealing: she can see a horrible loneliness there, as well as an infinite longing. For a second, she thinks it's going to be all right. They can go back to where they once were: colleagues, friends-turned-lovers, in the beginnings of a blossoming something. There can be tousled sheets in the morning and freshly-made, strong, black tea; walking through the grounds at night and sharing furtive looks behind the backs of other staff members. He can be hers again -- and even as she thinks so, his eyes cloud, and he turns away, once again taking a seat behind his desk._

 _"I'm afraid I don't have anything to say on the matter," he says, and how she hates the dullness of his voice. "I trust you to behave professionally and to respect the decisions of your superiors -- Madam Pomfrey."_

 _"Oh, to the devil with you," Poppy snarls, turning on her heel and striding out of his office. Right now, she's never hated anyone more than she hates Severus Snape._

 

***

 

November is drawing to a close, the days getting shorter and shorter, the first hints of snow on the wind. According to Severus, the area can get rather cold in winter, though Poppy is certain it can't be worse than Hogwarts. At any rate, it doesn't matter. They will stay inside, just the two of them, like they do now, with food and wine and reading brought to them by owls from Diagon Alley. Poppy wonders if Severus will think to give her a Christmas present, and smiles at the idea. Surely they are both too old for that sort of thing, or she is, at any rate. Now she knows he cares for her: that's enough.

Another letter has joined the other in the drawer. Every day, Poppy considers telling Severus about them, and every day, there is something that makes her decide against it. A raw hint of weariness in his tone, a glum look on his face -- even when there are no outward disturbances, he so often seems troubled. Poppy has learned to live with his tossing and turning in bed; there is the occasional nightmare, as well. When it gets too bad, she curls her arms and legs around him and murmurs soothing sounds in his ear; and Severus, her snide, cranky, dear Severus, turns to her and hides his face in her neck, clinging to her like a lifeline.

Poppy has healed people before, but now she's healing her own heart in the process. It does, she admits, put a certain spin on the experience.

The street outside is already dark, the odd street lamp breaking the monotony. Poppy has considered getting some new curtains for the kitchen window, since the ones already in place seem to have been there for at least thirty years. She'll have to ask Severus first, though. Not only because it's his house, technically speaking, but because every change in the house seem to have an impact on him, in ways both good and bad. She's guessing it has to do with his mother, whose sullen presence is otherwise only to be found on a few Muggle photographs around the house. Poppy faintly remembers Eileen Prince; she wonders what the woman would think now, about Poppy and her son. Nothing good, probably.

Severus is upstairs, sleeping. Poppy opens the kitchen cupboards, trying to decide what to have for dinner. She's about to settle on steak and kidney pie when the doorbell suddenly chimes, and she gives a start.

They very rarely get visitors. Pomona has been here once or twice, and so has Minerva, but most of their friends (or rather, Poppy's friends) are too busy to just pop by on any old Wednesday afternoon. Most of the houses on this street are deserted, and even if they weren't, Severus has expressed his reluctance to have anything to do with their neighbours.

Poppy draws her wand and enters the hallway. Through the small window, she can see that the man is alone, and dressed in Muggle clothes. She puts away her wand and opens the door.

She remembers the man, though she doesn't know if he remembers her. Even if she didn't, she'd guess who he was: he has the same hooked nose, the same dark hair, the same sallow skin. Her Healer's eyes also need one look to know that he is ill.

"Good afternoon," she says, keeping her hand on the door. The man starts, obviously surprised by her presence.

"Er -- hello." He squirms a little, trying to look past her. "I'd like to speak to Severus, if you don't mind."

"I'm afraid he's asleep," says Poppy gently, extending her hand. "My name is Poppy Pomfrey. I live here as Severus's... partner."

It's the first time she's ever said it aloud, and quite frankly, she's relieved Severus isn't there. That the man looks surprised and even a little shocked at the idea of a woman his age being lovers with Severus, doesn't really matter. "Tobias Snape," he says, rather unnecessarily as far as Poppy is concerned, and returns the handshake. His hand is very cold.

"Would you..." She hesitates for a second, but decides to go through with it. "Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?"

After a moment, Tobias Snape nods and follows her inside.

Poppy makes the tea the Muggle way, since she has no idea how accustomed the man is to seeing magic. She puts two steaming beakers on the table, and goes to the pantry to fetch milk and sugar. When she comes back, Tobias Snape's hands are curled around the beaker as if it's a talisman of luck. His eyes are wide, hungrily taking in every detail of the kitchen. He starts again when she sits down opposite him.

"What brings you here?" she asks, though she thinks she might have an idea. "You live abroad, I gather."

"Aye." He stares down into his beaker. "The States. Haven't been here for years."

"You've come a long way, then," Poppy offers.

He nods. Then looks up, dark, tired eyes searching her face. "I wanted to see Severus... Try an' set things right between us, like." His shoulders slump. "I don't know how much you know about it..."

"Not much," says Poppy truthfully.

She's still looking at him, the unhealthy hue of his skin, the sharpness of his features. He obviously notices her gaze, for he clears his throat. "I'm not well, you see."

"I'm a Healer," she says. "If there's anything I can do --"

Tobias Snape shakes his head, his mouth curling into the tiniest of smiles. "Nothing, they say. But cheers anyway."

His voice is deep and slightly hoarse; so similar to and yet unlike that of Severus, whose accent was schooled away by the Slytherin common room many years ago. Poppy wants to touch him, to comfort, the way she's done with patients so many times before. She picks up her beaker instead, nodding for him to go on.

He clears his throat again. "I'm renting a flat a few miles from here. Tried sending letters, but didn't hear anything, and, well. I could as well just come here meself, so he can tell me in his own words to get the hell out."

Poppy thinks for a moment, then she puts down her beaker and stands up. She walks to the drawer and pulls out the letters. "Are these the ones?" she asks.

Tobias Snape stares at them. Then at her. "Did you --"

"I gave him the first one," says Poppy. "He read it, then destroyed it without a word. He was in a foul mood for days afterwards. I'm sorry." She pauses. "I was going to give him these letters, but wanted to make sure he could deal with them first. Forgive me."

His shoulders slump even more now. He looks like a little boy in an old man's clothes. "I should have known," he mutters to his beaker. "He still hates me."

Poppy puts the letters back and sits down opposite him. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong between you?" she asks softly. "He never wants to talk about it."

He looks up, his eyes wet. He shuts them, running a threadbare sleeve over his face. "His mum died. He blames me." A shuddering pause. "He's right."

Poppy holds her breath, waiting.

"I didn't..." And Tobias Snape swallows, the lump that must be there in his throat still finding its way into his voice. "I didn't save her. I should have. I went about it all wrong." Tears are starting to roll down his too-sharp cheekbones. "And then she died."

 

***

 _Hogwarts, December 1994_

 _"Staying here for Christmas, Severus?"_

 _Poppy isn't sure why she's asking. He's always here for Christmas, prowling the decorated hallways muttering about sentimental nonsense, poking his dinner and pretending not to enjoy it. If anything, he's more of a regular than she is -- but this year, the thought of spending the holidays with Nigel and his family isn't all that appealing to her. She might be the spinster aunt, but at Hogwarts she can at least be the school matron, which is far more appealing, given that she's chosen it herself._

 _Severus grants her a gruff nod, pointing to the hall where the students are devouring their last breakfast before the break. "The absence of that will give me the necessary peace and quiet to work on perfecting my newest Potion. I am quite close to getting it right, if that dunderhead of a supplier doesn't botch things up, that is." He spears a piece of bacon for empathy. "I count on him to send me the last ingredients before the 25th."_

 _She smiles. Over the years, she's learned to discard his acerbic manner, or rather, accept it as part of him. "And I count on you to not let me run out of Potions. If the Christmas dinner is anything like last year, Firewhisky won't be enough to get rid of all the stomachaches..."_

 _His mouth curls into a small smile, which warms her insides in a way that's probably quite improper, given how much younger he is. Not that it matters. Poppy is of the firm opinion that if a wizard can have a wife thirty years younger than himself, as was the case with Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons and her late husband, then having the disparity the other way 'round is just as acceptable._

 _And if they've grown friendly these last few years, what of it? Sure, Severus's way of being friendly means that he's slightly less cantankerous in her company, not that he's showering her with compliments and affection, but Poppy knows how to look for small signs; it's a vital part of being a Healer. For whatever reason, he enjoys her presence. And she herself has come to realise that the boy has grown into a man, one that doesn't smother her with false flattery, but who is content to hear her talk about strange diseases and deadly wounds._

 _And yet, it is no more than what it is. There's no reason to think Severus has any romantic interest in her at all. Not one._

 _That's what she thinks a few days later, when they accidentally meet in a hallway after the annual dinner, only to realise they're finding themselves under a mistletoe. She still thinks it as Severus licks his lips, suddenly nervous as a boy, and asks, "May I"? She's thinking it as she nods, smiling like a shy girl of sixteen, and lets her hand find his; she's thinking it even as their mouths meet a couple of seconds later._

 _Of course, she's wrong. That doesn't mean it's going to be easy, far from it. Nothing about this is easy._

 

***

 

Poppy closes the door behind Tobias Snape and puts a hand to her brow. If there's one thing she's certain of, it's that this can't go on. Severus has to meet his father, most of all for his own sake. This family has suffered enough.

She goes back to the kitchen and starts rummaging about for dinner ingredients, all the while thinking about how to approach this. She has to talk to him first, hear his version of the story, or he'll accuse her of taking his father's side. Even if she is, Poppy can't bring herself to care. Tobias Snape is all but broken; Poppy has rarely seen a more guilt-wrecked man.

That evening, just as they're finishing their plates, Poppy decides to go with a direct approach. "I talked to your father," she says, eyes steady on Severus's face.

His mouth opens comically, his hand stills, the fork drops to the plate with a clatter. Then he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, you did _what?_ "

"Talked to your father." She watches him pale, his jaws clenching. "He came here, wanting to see you."

"I can't believe it." He's almost spitting out the words. "The nerve... As if writing me wasn't bad enough!"

Poppy flips her wand, and the letters soar out of their drawer, placing themselves next to Severus's plate. "More than once," she says.

He looks down at them, then stares at her. "You've intercepted --"

"Not for ever." She sighs. "You can be angry with me, if you like. You seemed so upset with the first one, so I thought it best to wait for the right moment before giving you the others. But it turns out I couldn't wait forever. Your father is very ill, Severus."

For a couple of minutes, neither of them speaks. Severus looks between her and the letters, distrustful and reserved. Poppy waits.

At last, he opens them, one by one, reading first one, then the other. When he's done, he puts them down on the table and wipes his hands on his thighs, as if he's touched something dirty. At least there's no attempt to set fire to them this time, which Poppy supposes is an improvement.

Severus shakes his head again. "I haven't talked to him in years," he says.

Poppy nods. "I know."

"What did he say to you?"

"He's dying," says Poppy simply, making no attempt to sweeten the bitter truth. Sometimes you have to be honest, and force other people to be, as well. "The Muggle Healers have given him three or four months left to live. But I have the impression that doesn't really matter to him. What matters, is to set things right between the two of you."

Severus stares down at his plate, looking very much like his father. "Did he talk to you about my mum?"

She hesitates. "A little bit," she says finally. "He says you blame him for her death. He blames himself, too."

He's picked the fork back up, clenching it in his fist, his knuckles white. "As he should."

"Severus." Poppy leans over the table, intently. "I want you to answer me. What exactly happened to your mother?"

The silence stretches on. Poppy holds her breath. It might be wrong, forcing him open like this, but it would be even more wrong to let it simmer, she's sure of it. Sometimes you have to open the wound to get the venom out.

Then, without meeting her gaze, he breaks. "Dead," he chokes, throwing down his fork and burying his head in his hands. "Did it herself. Hanging."

Poppy doesn't hesitate, not this time. She stands up and walks around the table, sitting down next to him. When she places a hand on his arm, he doesn't shrug it off. "It must have been terrible for you," she whispers.

He nods, gasping between not-quite-stifled sobs. "She got so unhappy sometimes, didn't want to do anything, just lay around, staring at the ceiling. And he didn't help her. He shouted at her, asking what was wrong with her, told her to pull herself together. I didn't know what to do, I didn't..."

"Of course you didn't." Poppy puts her arms around him, and he leans into them, shakingly. "You were but a child."

She remembers, now, that the staff were informed of Eileen Prince's death back then, although no-one mentioned the cause. They were all told to keep an extra eye on young Severus, the reclusive boy who didn't seem to have any friends, just housemates wanting to take advantage of his brains. Poppy had all sorts of good intentions back then, but they somehow never came to fruition in the long run: there were always other students to deal with, other children to look after.

She wonders, now, if she can ever make it up to him.

"She killed herself." Severus rubs his nose at his sleeve, quickly, angrily. "I didn't know what was wrong with her. My dad should have known, should have helped. He only made it worse -- and to think that he's now..."

"He's dying, too," Poppy repeats. "And he wants to see you. Though I don't know if he hopes you'll forgive him; I have the feeling he hasn't forgiven himself."

A shadow of uncertainty flickers over Severus's face. "Why does he want to see me, then?"

Poppy sighs. "Hasn't it occurred to you that your father loves you?"

He doesn't answer for a while. Then: "It never felt like it," he mutters. "He shouted at me, too, asking me what I'd done to make her like that. If that was his way of loving us both..."

"Some people are horrible at facing helplessness," says Poppy. "Their only way to meet it is with anger. But if you ask me, I think he's been punished enough." She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "And so have you."

 

***

 

 _Hogwarts, 1976_

 _Eileen Prince hasn't changed much since their school days: there's still the sullen expression, the lank hair. The man she's with, dark and hook-nosed, is obviously ill at ease; Poppy can see him throwing disturbed glances around the room every so often. They sit next to each other in front of the Headmaster's desk, their hands folded in their respective laps._

 _"We understand that the incident has been a terrible shock to your son," Albus says kindly. "Nevertheless, for the sake of the student in question, a vow of silence is needed. As Severus is not yet of age, we are hesitant to ask this of him without your explicit acceptance --"_

 _"And if they try anything like that again?" It's the man who is speaking. "Is he just supposed to keep quiet while they torment him, knowing that he can't say a word?"_

 _Albus inclines his head. "Rest assured, Mr. Snape, that nothing of the sort will be tolerated as long as your son is with us."_

 _Poppy thinks of the discussion she had with Albus, Minerva, and Horace last night. Apparently there have been incidents of animosity, perhaps even downright bullying, prior to this episode. Horace has promised to keep an eye out for young Severus, while Minerva has sworn to make sure that James Potter and his friends behave. However, Poppy has difficulties believing it can be so bad. Remus Lupin is one of the sweetest young lads she's ever met, and the devotion of his friends never fails to warm her heart -- such a charming group, the lot of them._

 _Severus Snape, on the other hand, is unlovely, dark, and dour. When he was brought to the Hospital wing the other night, he hardly talked to her, even after the worst of the shock had subsided, not even saying a word of thanks as she brought him hot chocolate and warm blankets._

 _Poppy looks at his parents again, noting the fervour of the father as he defends his son. Clearly, she thinks, we are all loveable to someone._

 

***

 

It's the first of December. It's been a week since the visit.

Severus sits on the sofa, eyes stubbornly fixed on his newspaper while Poppy collects china and teaspoons, Summoning a tablecloth from the cupboard and candles from faraway corners. She's made scones this afternoon, and is proud of the result: the deliciously-smelling baked goods are currently cooling off in the kitchen, waiting to be devoured.

When the table is set, she puts the kettle on. Then she walks to where Severus is sitting, placing herself in front of him, hands on her hips. "Come on," she says, not unkindly. "It's almost four o'clock, and I've done all the work."

"I'm still sick," he grumbles, even as he puts the newspaper down and stands up.

"Nonsense," says Poppy, taking his hand. "You're much better. I'm the Healer; I should know."

Hand in hand, they walk to the front door and out on the steps. The sky is beginning to darken already, a few snowflakes whirling on the wind. In the deserted street, they see a lone man making his way towards them, his gait slow and faltering.

Poppy lets go of Severus's hand and moves aside. She watches Tobias Snape get closer, until he stops right in front of the steps, looking at her, then at Severus. She watches the mirror expressions of father and son, insecure, hesitant, searching.

Then she opens the door and steps into the hallway. "Come in," she says, turning, and after a moment, they both follow.


End file.
